I Thought You Were Different: Part 3

Separation

Dammit all if Tony wasn't right; only three hours into yours and Steve's going away party, and Clint was dancing on the bar in one sock and no pants. Again. You had been sitting with his wife for the better part of an hour, observing the show from afar with plenty of video options taken for public shaming later; the two of you had decided that there was no reason for you to be the only ones suffering through this.

"What drink are we giving him that keeps ending like this? How do we keep repeating such a disturbing thing?" you asked Nat, sitting next to her, your legs crossed and leaning sleepily into the cushions of one of the large couches across the lounge from where her husband was making a total fool of himself. Despite the noise around you and the music blaring, the few drinks that you'd had were taking their relaxing effect.

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you."

"What?" you asked cautiously, holding your own glass ready to drink, but your curiosity was winning out.

Natasha smiled faintly as she watched the love of her life dance to the music that filled the room, looking completely ridiculous, but also looking totally blissful and having the time of his life. "It's water."

"Shut the hell up."

"I swear," she tossed up her hands with a chuckle, "he's just that big of a dork all on his own."

"I suppose that was never really in question-"

"(Y/N)!"

You closed your eyes, almost as if the sound of your own name gave you pain, trying your best to not engage the source of it, but you knew full well that your efforts meant absolutely nothing. You weren't feeling up to what you knew that he would want, but you didn't see any way out of it now.

"(Y/N)! Come dance with me!"

"Can he see me?" you whispered to Natasha, your eyes still closed as your body tried to sink deeper into the couch.

"Yup."

"Alright," you groaned, pushing yourself up but stopping abruptly when Sam ran across the room to grab your hand, all but yanking you to your feet when he helped you to stand. "Jesus, Wilson, if you rip my arm off, Bucky won't have enough shirts for the both of us."

"I heard that!" Came the familiar voice of your metal-armed friend from the farthest side of the room. "I've got you! Just be sure he rips off the left one!"

"Come on, girl, it's time to spin."

"Don't make me puke again," you warned, holding your place, "because this time I won't miss your shoes, and I promise that you'll never see that brand new suit at another party when I'm done with it."

Sam laughed aloud and gave you a firm pull towards him, raising your hand up so that he could give you a fast spin before you landed in his arms, "your threats mean nothing, woman. This isn't my suit."

"Then who's is it?"

"My sweet, sweet, (Y/N), the answer is practically screaming at you," he laughed. "In fact, I think it's trying to get your attention," he stopped, pointing back towards the bar, where Clint was frantically waving at you to lure you in his direction.

"Okay, but that's still not good enough reason for him to not wear pants, Sam. Don't encourage him," you warned, pulling out of his grip to lead the two of you to the dance floor. This might be the last night that you would see Sam for up to a year as you and Steve took your break, and you could tell by the way he looked at you as you turned back to face him that it was starting to sink in for him too. He was your best friend, even more so than Natasha, and the idea of not seeing him every day was tearing at your heart and becoming almost too much to think about.